“Knux,” said Anna. “It’s a proper miracle you’re still alive. I’d say time’s been kind to you, but it hasn’t.”
Three more East End Boys stepped out from behind a standing slab of concrete, one wall the only trace of a former building. Knux walked closer, his black plastisteel hands upturned at the end of long, dingy sleeves. The coat hung open down the center, showing off his pallid, anemic frame. His mates flanked him, staring at her as if trying to undress her with their eyes.
“’Ow bout a bit of tit?” said one with green hair.
The other in a long, clear trench coat, laughed at the rhyme.
“I think not,” said Anna. “I’ve no need of your services.”
“What if we ‘ave need of yours?” asked Knux.
Green Hair fidgeted. “Oi. She’s a bit different, eh?”
She shifted her eyes to them without turning her head. “The only service I’ll provide you lot is an express to the Devil’s Doorstep.”
“That’s a right dodgy pub, that,” said Trench Coat. “Waters their shite down.”
Anna sighed. “No, you sod. The actual Devil.”
A slow crackle of lightning connected her hand to a nearby puddle, spattering their legs with mud and making their hair stand on end. Ozone filled her nostrils.
“Bugger…” whispered Knux. “You’re a witch? ‘Ve you always been able ta do ‘at?”
“Aye. An’ the world would thank me.” Anna smiled. “For improving the overall intelligence of Britain’s gene pool.”
She walked away from the four confused East Enders, trudging across The Ruin. With the rain falling, none of the local Cov children risked going out and about. None of the clouds held the shapes of demons today, no baleful yellow eyes staring down at her. She set her jaw, ignoring her memories of a hallucinatory goblin, and approached her former home. Ol’ Jack still stood in the shadow of the doorway. He startled, seeming surprised by her presence. She leapt a huge mud bog and took shelter under the building at his side.
“How are you feeling, Jack?”
“Your friend left me with a ‘ell of a ‘eadache.” He fidgeted his hands in his pockets. “Good ta see ya, Anna. He said the bastard what fucked with my head’s been got?”
She tightened her jaw, holding back her regret so it didn’t show on her face. James had been many things, one of them definitely a bastard. “Yes. He’s dead. I wanted to thank you for helping my mum.”
He scowled at the rain. “I didn’t do much of a good job of it. I couldn’t get to her fast enough.”
“I know that’s why you took after me so. You don’t have to feel guilty over what they did to her. You helped her escape. I’d have grown up in a laboratory cage if you didn’t do that.”
“Might’ve been kinder for ya than that sod.”
Anna looked down, a long, slow exhale trailing out of her mouth. “I’ve made my peace with him, Jack. What’re you still doing out here in the dustbin?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s a comfortable habit. The poor sots here could use the help. Figure it’s a step to makin’ up to the world for some of the shite I did in the name of King and country.” Ol’ Jack looked her up and down with an appraising smile. “You look a lot like her, you know. What’re you up to?”
“I’m not entirely sure yet. I’ve sort of painted myself into a corner. Seems like I’ve gotta make good on a bluff to stay out of jail.”
“Not much of a choice, luv.”
“After what Old Bill’s done to me… to everyone ‘ere, I’m not sure I could stand to be associated with them… even if I would technically be under Mi6.”
“Watch those bastards,” said Jack. “They’ll have ya doin’ shite ya don’t realize.”
“It wouldn’t be traditional. The CSB is divesting itself of everything to do with psionics. King William is throwing a fit because Parliament is likely to vote in favor of making us citizens.”
“Oh, the horror.” Ol’ Jack chuckled.
“That paranoid bastard can’t stop it now. They want to put together something like Division 0 over here.”
“What’s that?”
“Police, but psionics. Fight fire with fire sort of thing. I’m just not sure I could tolerate being a cop. Too many bad memories.”
“It’s just the washouts what wind up ‘ere. Those lot don’t deserve to wear the uniform. If you ask me, they’re due for a bit of housekeeping.”
“Aye.” She hugged him. “Thanks for everything, Jack. Drop by sometime. Number six Woodseer.”
He blinked. “You’re takin’ the old place?”
“Yeah.” Anna smiled. “Need room for the boy.”
Ol’ Jack’s eyebrows went up. “There’s a story there.”
“James gave ‘im the zap. He thinks I’m ‘is mother. I…” Anna stared down. “I’m not going to be very good at it, but I couldn’t bear the look he gave me. How do you tell a twelve-year-old who just lost his ‘dad’ that you’re not really his mum? Even if it’s all bollocks. His real past is so horrible I don’t even want to talk about it. This new person is pounded so deep in his brain it’s no different…”
“Archon?” Jack shook his head. “Aaron didn’t deprogram him?”
“I’m not sure he could. Archon spent hours working on his new personality… besides”—Anna clenched her hands into fists—”it’s kinder to leave him be. He’s had a right awful time of it. Kinda makes my life not feel so bad.”
“What if it unravels? He might resent you.”
“Aaron’s pretty sure it won’t. It’s a heavy implant. The boy’s not a telepath, not in the least. He’s a bit like Mamoru… all kinetics, speed, strength. He’s not Awakened, but he’s going to be a handful.”
“Whatever a Mamoru is…” Jack chuckled. “Sounds like a heart condition. Well, I’ll be here if you need me.”
“I need to go before Alastair drives the Taylors up the wall. I’ll be late for dinner.” Anna hugged him again, letting her hand linger on his. “Don’t be a stranger, Jack.”
75
Suijinsama
Epilogue: Grey Ronin
Mamoru
Waves of white cherry blossoms snowed in a graceful cascade, whirling about wherever the wind carried them. Mamoru didn’t move, his empty samurai armor hovering like a statue under a blue torii gate lined with small, black birds. The sounds of nature emanated from the endless forest in all directions, and the scent of wet ground permeated everything. Minutes passed before motion caught his eye. Six men in black suits walked out from the trees. The sky reflected in six pairs of sunglasses, clouds scrolling by too fast for reality. The lead man, the only one with traces of grey above his ears, advanced and bowed. A thumbnail-sized silver pin on his lapel bore the letters NSK in English under the Kanji for Nippon Shōgyō-Kumiai.
Mamoru shifted his avatar, appearing as himself in a blue haori jacket and baggy white hakama pants, daisho at the left side of his belt. He returned the bow and reached into the flap of his shirt, pulling forth a wooden lockbox that could not have fit there. He presented it to the older man, who took it and lifted the lid.
Silver credit chips glowed with white light. Green numbers hovered over the pile of treasure, reading the sum of six million. The elder bowed again, and with a grunt of approval, closed the box. At his nod, the next nearest man approached and offered Mamoru a scroll.
The younger NSK representative bowed. “I hope you enjoy her.”
Mamoru cut the man in half from hip through the top of his head in the same motion that pulled his katana from its scabbard. The man’s scream broke into digitized chunks as his body exploded into a shower of onyx fragments. His remaining four associates raised their arms; pistols appeared in their hands in a shimmering coalescence of pixels. The elder man raised an eyebrow, but made no move to ready a weapon.
“Sadako is my sister.” Mamoru stood for a few seconds, allowing his rage to fade, before he reached out, grasped the hovering scroll, and slid the katana back in its sh
eath.
The men lowered their guns.
“Forgive Kimura-san’s rudeness,” said the older man. “He did not know her relation to you.”
Mamoru detested their buying and selling of people, but that burden did not rest upon his shoulders. It didn’t matter that they dressed it up under terms such as contract and employment. A slave remained a slave regardless of the euphemism one hid behind.
“Imura-sama,” whispered one of the men, in a faltering voice. “Kimura-san is dead… for real.”
The older man turned pale.
“Do not be hypocrites,” said Mamoru. “You cling to ancient ways that permit the ownership of slaves and the theft of children from their families. Yet, when one offends the honor of a samurai, you question the right afforded him by the same traditions? Live by the old ways or do not. There is no in-between.”
Mamoru let the scroll unfurl. He now legally owned his sister, purchased from the same people who had stolen her. With this, he would petition the Shogun of Yoshida-Nakano, the corporation that ruled Sapporo prefecture. Sadako would be free, able to return to Japan without consequence should she ever desire to. Mamoru collapsed the scroll and pushed it into his chest, transferring the file to his deck.
He bowed to them and released his connection to the net.
Serene woodlands faded to black. The oily stench of metal and dirt rushed into the void left by cyberspace. The absence of real sensation drowned beneath an influx of touch, taste, and smell a hundred times more intense than normal, saturating every breath with the flavor of steel and grease on the wind. Mamoru covered his nose and coughed.
When his clothes no longer felt like sandpaper, he stood. “Sadako?”
He looked around the two-room apartment. The NinTek berserker series deck, grey-blue and gleaming, seemed the only item in the room not forty or more years old. Metal walls smeared with grime surrounded dingy furniture handmade by the locals. He found the bathroom door open, no sign of her there either.
Mamoru stepped outside, searching the rolling grassland between him and the river. Sadako chose this place, twenty or so miles further inland from the edge of East City. The locals had warned him not to travel to the northwest, where the prewar city of Atlanta supposedly ‘still glowed’ from the nuke that had gone off. Kate had called the area the Scattered Lands, not officially part of the UCF, but not the Badlands either. Each town here ruled itself, and none of them knew him. They’d chosen this settlement for its proximity to East City, still within range of a wireless GlobeNet connection. Sadako wanted him to spend some time away from technology like her father had.
If only I had obeyed as a son should have.
Sadako waved from the river. He disregarded his sandals and walked barefoot to the bank. She stood thigh deep a short distance ahead of him, her long red t-shirt held in two fists above the surface.
A hopeful smile formed on her face. “Do you think Suijinsama can hear us from so far away? I have been trying to talk to him.”
“He is water. The sea god is not bound to Japan.”
“Nor are you.” She waded closer to the bank, over to him.
“It is done, sister. You are free.”
Sadako let her shirt drop and gathered her hands together at her chest to lean against him. He put an arm around her. They stood for a few minutes, shin deep in the silent water. East City smeared grey across the horizon, speckled with winking lights.
“Will you be happy here?” asked Sadako. “I am afraid you will not be happy without your technology.”
“I do not trust them.”
“You gave them back the ship. They have no reason to be angry with you.”
Mamoru gazed at the clouds. “Division 0 would be little more than another master. It is time I became the family you deserve.”
“Don’t dwell on the past. You should live your life to fulfill yourself. I will be at your side.”
He smiled. “You should find someone and start a family.”
“You nag like a mother.”
Mamoru’s laugh turned to a somber stare. He put his other arm around her and pulled her close. “I must be both Father and Mother for you now.”
“I am not your burden. I was eight; you were ten. You were a boy. I do not blame you.”
“Will you be happy here?” he asked.
“It reminds me of our old home. Quiet and open.” She looked out over the grassy meadow. “Perhaps I will buy a hovercar and commute to the city when I grow restless and desire to work. I’ve already found some companies looking for people with my skill set.”
“Sadako…” He pushed her to arm’s length with a grip on each shoulder, frowning.
“Do not look at me like that.” She folded her arms. “I’m going to be on the other side. I’m looking at an offer from a security company.”
“You will not assassinate anyone.”
“No.” She poked him in the gut. “I was always better at spying anyway. Now come inside.” Sadako pushed him toward the modest plastisteel cabin. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Mamoru stared at the plain blue door of a sixty-second-floor apartment in the middle of Sapporo’s residential district. He squeezed the small box in his hand—the one Sadako had given him—and eyed the silver panel on the wall. He had come too close to death too many times to fear something as simple as his feelings.
He touched the panel.
“Who’s there?” Nami’s voice emanated from the wall.
“Hokama Kiyomi, I have come to take back the false name I gave you.”
Something dropped inside the apartment with a loud clank.
Soft thuds raced up to the door, which snapped open with a hiss. Nami looked much like she did before Minamoto stole her life. A loose indigo sweater and black skirt gave away no trace of her years spent as property. She reached out and grasped the sides of his ankle-length black coat. Her breath stuttered.
“I have been a weak man, Nami.” He brushed a hand across her cheek. “I have been crippled by doubt, unsure if your feelings were genuine or the desperation of a woman trapped in a situation beyond her control. I hoped beyond reason that you might”—he hesitated for a few seconds before forcing the word out—”love me, as I love you.”
Nami stared at him, a faint quiver running across her bottom lip.
Mamoru held up the box, opening it to reveal a pink diamond ring.
“Will you have me, even if it means forever leaving Japan?”
She let go of his coat to cover her mouth. “M-Mamoru…” Tears fell from her eyes, over her fingers. “I never knew if what you felt for me was more than pity. I have nothing left here but the fear Minamoto will learn of my escape.”
He took the ring from the box and held it up. “A weak man took away your name. Allow me to give you mine.”
Nami held out a shaking hand. “I am Saitō Nami.”
Mamoru held her wrist to steady her arm, and slipped the ring over her finger.
76
Fog and Snow
Epilogue: Daughter of Ash
Kate
The cold breeze ripping down the dank street collected a whorl of empty synthbeer cans and other trash, rattling them over parked cars and a PubTran obelisk terminal. The gale seemed to disregard the existence of Kate’s new uniform, chilling her as if she stood naked by the side of a building. She leaned against the wall, taking shelter from the rain under a tiny slab of concrete protruding from the shattered high-rise. While her training officer ran inside nextdoor to fetch coffees, she amused herself watching the rain gathering at the sides of her real boots, no longer afraid to get close to her.
Captain Buckley had made a show of yelling at her over her last special heat-resistant uniform being shredded, even if it hadn’t been her fault. The thing had apparently been quite expensive. She had pointed out the rail gun responsible for ripping it apart should have killed her. Thinking about that made her want to race out to the Badlands and hug Althea again.
She lifted her g
aze from the ground at a wolf-whistle. Six young men in mismatched coats and baggy pants looked her up and down. One grabbed himself, another took pictures with his NetMini, and the other four grinned and gestured as if squeezing her breasts.
Kate locked stares with them, un-leaned from the wall, and stepped out of the shadows. The realization she wore a police uniform sank in, and they backed away into a brisk walk in the other direction. The electronic bell-chime of a shop door opening sounded behind her.
“You okay?” asked Sergeant Huang, her training officer. He walked up alongside and handed her a steaming cup. “Careful, it’s hot. This place don’t look like much, but their coffee is amazing. Real grown beans even. I never understood why all the best places wind up in bad parts of the city.”
His gloss black psi armor gleamed in the light of an overhead lamp, less revealing than the indirium mesh clinging to her skin. Her jealousy lasted only as long as it took to remember her ‘gift’ didn’t care about armor. She couldn’t get her brain to accept the concept. It would react faster than conscious thought. The same heat responsible for melting bullets would incinerate four hundred thousand credits worth of Division 0 equipment. Command didn’t want to spend that much money every time some idiot took a pot shot at her. She felt uneasy about it anyway. Whatever technology allowed the Psi Armor to feed on psionic energy and reinforce itself seemed all too similar to the neural stunner C-Branch put on her neck.
“Fine. Just a bunch of idiots with bad eyesight. The damn car is right there.” She took a giant swig. “It’s not that hot.”
Sgt. Huang shook his head. “Pyros…” He laughed.
“So, you’re my TO. When does the training actually start?”
Angel Descended (The Awakened Book 6) Page 62
